Crimson and Clover
by The Profane Angel
Summary: Simple, if dark, story, with some Sopranos crossover don't let it scare you off if you don't watch it though . Somewhat AU. A story about endurance of the human spirit in the face of violence and upheaval and potential loss. Jack/Claire.
1. Chapter 1

A/N – a simple, if dark, story, a crossover of sorts that touches canon but does not adhere to it. As my brother is a federal law enforcement agent, the details of a protective service agent are accurate. It's more a story of the endurance of the human spirit in the face of violence and upheaval and potential loss, written to help exorcise my own demons about the approaching deaths of two dear friends.

* * *

**Crimson and Clover**

_-Chapter 1-_

Carlo Viola summoned Jackie Aprile and Tony Soprano after a lengthy discussion with his underboss. It was time, they agreed, to test these young rising stars. "Let's see if these boys have the balls they think they do." Carlo's impatience was obvious and ominous.

When Tony and Jackie hustled into the "office" – the back room of Satriale's Pork Store – they stood in front of their boss and respectfully waited.

He stared at them, measuring them with his penetrating gaze. "You two think you're such hot shit," he said, "well, our New York friends have asked for help with a sensitive matter, help that can't be traced back to them. It's going to bring heat. Are you up to it?"

Jackie cut an appraising glance at his best friend, then looked at the boss again. "Yeah, we're up for it."

Carlo's smile was cold. "I love the confidence of youth. OK, hotshot, you need to whack two New York district attorneys. We know their movements, they're creatures of habit. We'll provide cold pieces. Take them out, and the case against our friend goes away. Little Stevie will give you the particulars. If you go down, we won't help you."

"We won't fail," Tony said. "When?"

"As soon as possible. Little Stevie will explain everything." He dismissed them with a nod. Little Stevie Spananero stepped up and jerked his thumb, leading them into the back alley behind the pork store. He provided photographs, daily routines, and weapons, then warned them they were on their own. Succeed, he said, and you'll get your button. Fail, and you do your time alone. It was a simple proposition, well within the capabilities of these young, ambitious men, but ever cynical Carlo had his doubts about the success of this mission, infecting Little Stevie. He was glad he wasn't part of the New York crew, the heat was going to be unbearable with this one. Tony and Jackie better prove their swaggering worth. Little Stevie watched them climb in Jackie's car and thought this is going to be a wild ride. It was the first time he'd doubted Carlo Viola's wisdom. Everyone would be caught in the fallout.

--xx—

It was nearly eight when Jack McCoy and Claire Kincaid finished for the day. "Devlin's?" he asked, referring to their favorite Irish pub.

She nodded, collecting files and attempting order in the wake of legal chaos. Jack changed into a pair of faded jeans, grabbed his jacket, and walked out with her. They signed out with Graham, then waited by elevators.

"Tired?" Jack asked.

Claire nodded. "Futility has that effect on me." She attempted a bright smile and failed. "You really think we'll get a conviction on Lupertazi?"

Jack shrugged as the elevator bell dinged and the doors slid open. She stepped in ahead of him, then leaned against him as the doors closed on the office. "I guess we're working tomorrow?" She looked up as he put his hand on her back.

"Yeah." Jack watched the numbers descend. "We go to trial in two weeks, we have to be ready." The car braked slowly, and he said, "I hate working Saturdays, too, but what can I say?"

The doors opened on a nearly deserted lobby. "We'll make it up on Sunday," he said, smiling. "We'll spend the whole day in bed."

She playfully slapped his back. "Horndog." They left through the front doors. It was three blocks to Devlin's Pub. Jack held the door for her, and they walked into the boisterous, smoky pub they loved. It was a favorite with the district attorneys, a place where buttoned-down ADAs could relax without fear of subtle reprisals. Jack guided Claire to a couple of empty stools at the bar.

The bartender, Jamie, knew them well and poured their drinks as soon as he saw them. Jamie was the first to know they were falling in love, the first to realize when they'd finally consummated the relationship, listened unobtrusively as they talked of discretion, gossip, commitment, as well as picking up tidbits about the cases they were prosecuting. He liked them, rooted for them as they practiced discretion in the face of absurd regulations regarding subordinates and superiors, and turned a deaf ear to the casual bribes from other attorneys wanting to know what he overheard.

Jack was unusually quiet. Claire sipped her drink, then focused on him, putting her hand on his thigh. "What," she said.

Jack sighed, then sipped his single malt scotch. "Lupertazi, what else? We've already lost one witness."

"The others are under protection," she said. "He can't get to them."

Jack's smile was tinged with disbelief that she was still so naïve. "A determined man can get to anyone," he said, and signaled Jamie for another round. "Losing Alfredo was a big hit, but as long as we have the others, we should be able to convict him."

"What I don't understand is why he did the hit himself. He usually stays away from the dirty work."

Jack shook his head. "Wet work," he corrected, and picked up his fresh drink. "He whacked this guy because it was personal, the little bastard took out Carmine's nephew." He shrugged. "I agree, it's usually Johnny Sack's job, but I guess Carmine felt he had to make a show of strength."

"You've prosecuted mobsters before."

"I have. And I have to say I prefer the Italians to the Russians or Chinese, the Italians respect certain unwritten rules."

"Such as."

"Families are off limits, as are cops and the DA's office. This is going to be long and ugly, expect to work a lot of weekends."

Claire looked at her watch. She didn't want to spend the evening on this stool, watching Jack get morosely drunk as he contemplated the difficulties of successfully prosecuting the mob. She'd give him one more drink, then urge him to come home with her.

* * *

A/N- This will be a multi-chapter fic. I intend to publish two chapters at a time. Let me know what you think of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Crimson and Clover**

_-Chapter Two-_

Jackie, in the back seat with Tony, glanced at their driver before getting Tony's attention. "Calm down," he said, "we've done this before."

Tony looked at him. "C'mon, Jackie. We've never whacked a woman, let alone a DA. The heat is going to be record-breaking."

"Which is why we were called in. New York can swear they didn't do it, and the cops won't be able to prove they did. It's perfect. And we'll be legendary."

Twenty year old Tony Soprano thought about that, about establishing their primacy over the young guys vying for buttons. New York would not ignore this if they were successful, and Tony didn't doubt they would be. They'd planned it perfectly, tracking their targets, learning their habits. Devlin's was their favorite place, they'd be off guard and buzzed when they walked out, and then Tony and Jackie would strike. He didn't want to whack a woman, especially one as pretty as Claire Kincaid, but he remembered that she was the enemy. She was helping to bring Carmine down, and she wouldn't hesitate to take Tony, too, if she could.

"You take the broad," Jackie said, "I'll hit the guy."

Tony looked out the window, wanting to trade, but Jackie would see that as weakness. He loved Jackie, but Jackie was his competition for dominance in the family. Killing the woman would put him ahead in the points column, and he needed the bonus. He had a family, he needed all the money he could grab.

The couple at the bar slid off their stools and shrugged into their jackets. Tony nudged Jackie. "Time to move," he said, and they got out of the car.

--xx—

Claire had a mild buzz. She wanted to take Jack's hand, but there were too many colleagues in the bar. She'd wait until they were outside. They threaded their way through occupied tables to the door, anticipating burying the worry and tension with a few rounds of raunchy sex.

Cold air washed over her and she paused on the sidewalk, buttoning her green overcoat. Jack watched her, slightly impatient, he too anticipated wiggling under the sheets.

"Ready?" he asked, when she'd fastened the last button. She nodded and fell into step with him. He put his arm around her.

Jack sensed the men behind them and started to turn as the world exploded. Jackie Aprile fired at his back, it felt like sledge hammers struck his body. Tony fired once at Claire, hitting her in the upper back. Blood flowed like rivers when they dropped like rocks to the sidewalk. Jackie and Tony ran to the waiting car and scrambled in, the car moving forward before Jackie closed the door. They looked at each other, high fives all around, as the driver expertly sped away from the scene in his unremarkable black sedan.

--xx—

Claire had never known such pain. She was on her stomach, groaning under Jack's weight. She managed to turn her head enough to see him lying over her, legs angled away. Blood pooled and ran, mingling with hers. His eyes were closed. Claire moved her arm, her fingers touched his coat, and she whispered "Jack?" She was dimly aware of people from Devlin's congregating around them, of sirens growing closer, and then she slid into blackness, her fingers still gripping Jack's sleeve.

--xx—

Briscoe and Curtis arrived as the badly wounded Jack McCoy and Claire Kincaid were loaded into ambulances. Lennie observed the bloody bandages, wrappers, and other debris left by EMTs. He looked at the crowd gathered on the sidewalk, and his first order was to the uniformed sergeant, get their names and tell them we want to talk to them.

Then he focused on the patrol lieutenant standing by curb, dazed by carnage. "Loo," he said, gently, "what happened?"

The lieutenant, his name tag read Baum, snapped into his professional posture. "Best we can tell, the ADAs came out of Devlin's and two men came up behind them and shot them. Entry wounds in the back." He shrugged a shoulder. "It has the marks of a hit. Who were they prosecuting?"

"Lupertazi," Lennie said. "How bad is it?"

"Bad. The woman lost a lot of blood, the man may have been hit in the spine." He fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "They're going to Hudson, the docs will be able to tell you more." He lit a cigarette. "Hey, isn't this an OCB thing?"

Rey came up as the lieutenant spoke. "Lupertazi is under OCB's umbrella, these ADAs are ours."

"You know them, detective?" He inhaled and released a huge cloud of smoke.

Rey nodded. "We've worked with them frequently, but not on the Lupertazi case. OCB and all. Lennie, we have a witness who actually saw it happen." He jerked his head toward a young woman, standing back from the crowd, leaning against the building. They approached her, smiling reassuringly.

"I'm Detective Briscoe, this is my partner Detective Curtis. Did you see what happened?"

She was trembling, but she made an effort at control. "Yes, I opened the door to leave just as it happened. Two guys, dressed in black, came up behind them and opened fire without a word."

"Can you describe them?"

She shrugged. "Mid-twenties, longish hair. The one that shot Ms. Kincaid was tall, the other about average height."

"You know Ms. Kincaid?" Rey asked.

"Yeah, from work. I'm an ADA in narcotics. Oh God," she whispered. "There was so much blood."

"Easy," Lennie said. "Could you identify these guys if you saw them again?"

"Maybe. They were so calm. They shot them and then got in a black car. Don't ask me the make and model, I don't know cars." She hugged herself as her shivers intensified.

"Lennie, Rey." Anita Van Buren walked up. "What do we have?"

"McCoy and Claire were shot leaving Devlin's. I hear they're in bad shape, the EMTs took them to Hudson."

"World class trauma unit there," Anita said, her eyes betraying the lack of emotion in her voice. "Considering who they were prosecuting, this look like a hit to you?"

Lennie nodded. "Hard to believe Lupertazi would be that stupid, though. Going after the DA…" his voice trailed away.

"OK, work the canvas, talk to the witnesses, I'm going to Hudson. Keep me informed every step of the way." She shook her head. "Mr. Schiff is going to be on the warpath." She turned and walked back to her car and driver.

--xx—

Anita entered through the emergency room. In addition to those waiting to be seen, she saw unis and a couple of suits guarding Adam Schiff. She approached, flashing her badge. Adam sat on a hard plastic chair, and he looked up as Anita sat next to him.

"Mr. Schiff," she said, gently, wanting to take his hand. "What do you know?"

He sighed. "They're trying to stabilize them before taking them up to surgery. The bullet missed Jack's spine, but it bounced around a little before exiting. Claire took one in the upper back, I guess it shattered a couple of ribs before exiting just above her breast, she lost a lot of blood." He shook his head. "Any leads?"

"Two men, in black, shot them from behind, and escaped in a black sedan. No one got a license plate, the driver had the lights off. We won't leave one skell hiding under a rock, I promise."

"We know who stood to gain from their executions," he said. "Put the screws to his people. I know Carmine Lupertazi's behind this."

"We'll do everything we can to prove that, sir."

He looked at her. "Then get busy."

She nodded and stood. She wanted to talk to the attending physician. She pushed through the triage door, flashing her badge at the nurse who moved to intercept her. "Take me to Ms. Kincaid and Mr. McCoy," she said.

"You can't see them now, the doctors are working on them."

"Then I'll wait to speak to the attending physicians," she said. "Lead the way."

She was escorted to two trauma rooms and told not to go inside either. She looked through the glass and saw doctors and nurses working on Claire. It was controlled chaos. She faintly heard orders shouted and saw many pairs of hands working on the young woman Anita cared for. Then pressure bandages were applied, rails raised, and two nurses rolled the gurney, with an unconscious Claire, through the doors and past Anita. She watched as Claire was rolled away, then snapped back as a blood-stained physician walked out. "Doctor," she said.

He stopped and looked down at the little woman with the shiny badge and big gun holstered on her hip. "Yes," he said, unable to hide his impatience at the interruption.

"I'm Lieutenant Van Buren, I'm heading the investigation into these shootings. How's Ms. Kincaid?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "She's going up to surgery. The bullet tumbled around, bouncing off her sternum before coming out above her left breast. She has internal bleeding, as well as blood loss from the entry and exit wounds. She's critical at the moment. Now, excuse me, I need to help with the man." He turned away from Anita and stepped into the other trauma room.

Anita followed, stopping at the door and peering through the window. Jack McCoy, in his underwear, lay on a gurney, pale as death, and Anita shivered. She never thought she'd see this alpha male bleeding and helpless. The staff worked quickly, using instruments Anita could only guess at, to probe into his body. Bloody material was everywhere. And then, like Claire, he was bandaged and hustled out of the trauma room, following Claire's path to the elevator and surgery. The doctor she'd spoken to peeled gloves away from his hands, throwing them angrily into a trash can, and then stepped out. He paused beside Anita.

"Critical," he said. "A lot of internal damage. Now, excuse me, I understand the DA is waiting for me." He hesitated. "My name is MacMichael, I don't have a card, but you can call me later and I'll let you know who the surgeons are." He walked away from Anita, toward the waiting room, rubbing his neck.

Anita decided to go up to the surgical floor and wait. Her detectives would call if something required her personal attention. She had complete confidence in Briscoe and Curtis, in their skills and knowledge. Schiff couldn't demand better detectives. She took the elevator to the fourth floor and got off, looking around.

The nurses' station wasn't too busy. She approached, her shield in hand. "Excuse me," she said.

A blonde looked up, saw the badge and put her pen down. She stood and looked at Anita. "How may I help you?"

"I'm the commander of the detective squad investigating the shootings of the two ADAs now in surgery."

"There's not much I can tell you at this moment. Our best surgeons are working on them, it's going to take hours. If you'll leave your card, I'll have someone call you when we know something."

Anita fished a card out its holder and passed it to the young woman. "We're all taking a personal interest in this," she said, as the nurse pinned the card to a corkboard above her desk but under the countertop. "I'll wait."

The nurse shrugged. "The waiting room is over there." She pointed to a swinging door across the hall. "It's going to be hours, officer."

"I'll wait," she repeated, firmly. She heard the elevator ding and turned. Adam Schiff and his protective detail got out of the lift and when Adam saw Anita, he walked over. "They're in surgery, Mr. Schiff. We can wait in there." She pointed to the waiting room.

He followed her. As they sat on a lumpy couch, Adam looked at one of his protectors. "Would you get us coffee?" He reached for his wallet, in the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

"Got it, sir," the man said, before looking at his partner. "Maybe you should wait outside until I get back." The other man nodded and took up a defensive position outside, while the senior man went for coffee.

Adam looked at Anita, and the weight of his years and the horrors he'd seen overtook his normally placid expression. "It's bad," he said.

"Yes. But they've got the best doctors, Mr. Schiff, and they're healthy and strong."

He sighed. "Health and strength aren't much of a match for a bullet. And Ms. Kincaid's so young. She should never have been on this case."

Anita shook her head. "You never would have succeeded in yanking her off that case."

He stared at the floor, his emotions visible in his tormented eyes. "Jack seems to think he can't function without her. She is one hell of a lawyer, she's gaining ground on Jack faster than anyone thought possible." He looked up. "If I lose them, it's going to take months for new prosecutors to get up to speed."

"It's going to take months for them to recover," she said, firmly, not believing the optimism in her voice. "But they'll recover and prosecute Lupertazi right onto the gurney."

His smile was humorless. "They can't prosecute their own assailant, Lieutenant. They're witnesses now." He rubbed his palms together, then clapped them on his knees. "So, one way or another, Lupertazi gets what he wants. A lengthy delay whether they live or die. And his lawyers will scream speedy trial." He stood as the man carrying coffee walked in. "I've asked Donnelly to meet me here." He passed a cardboard cup of hospital coffee to Anita. "Just make sure your detectives do it by the book. Jack and Claire deserve no less."


	3. Chapter 3

**Crimson and Clover**

_-Chapter Three-_

Liz Donnelly was getting ready for bed when the call came. She listened to Adam Schiff repeat what little he knew, her stomach churning as soon as she heard "critically wounded, Hudson Medical Center." She understood that, in his inarticulate way, he wanted her to take over the prosecution. Unaccustomed to Adam Schiff being anything less than clear and focused, she agreed to meet him on the surgical floor.

She took off her gown, then stepped into jeans and yanked a white cashmere sweater over her head. She ran a comb through her short blonde hair and decided the hell with makeup, at this hour, under these conditions, who'd care? She called a cab, and while she waited, loaded her purse with cell phone, notepad and pen, and cigarettes, her secret vice. She got a brown leather blazer out of the closet, then shoved her feet into a pair of Weejuns. It would have to do, surgical units were not known as a hotbed of fashion.

The taxi pulled to the curb in front of her brownstone and she jogged down the steps, her brain in overdrive. Jack, shot down like a rabid dog. She shivered. And that sweet young thing he was banging, she was caught in the carnage, too. Liz had seen Claire Kincaid a few times, and her impression was favorable. The woman, while young, seemed capable, of prosecuting and of handling Jack McCoy. Liz grimly smiled. Kudos to any woman who could handle Jack. She'd noticed subtle changes in Jack lately. He was more relaxed for one, and she'd seen them occasionally in restaurants, holding hands and leaning forward across the table. She hoped it was good while it lasted.

She found the waiting room and stepped through the swinging door. Adam and a lieutenant Liz vaguely recognized sat on the couch, talking quietly. She cleared her throat, and Adam rose.

"Liz, thank you for coming. This is Anita Van Buren, squad commander from the two-seven. They caught the case, Devlin's falls inside the precinct lines."

Liz shook hands with the much shorter woman. "Glad to meet you," she said, then turned back to Adam. "What happened?"

He shrugged. "They had a couple of drinks, left the bar and were walking, I assume, to get a taxi. Two men came up behind them and opened fire. We have a description of the assailants, but the driver of the getaway car kept it dark, so no plate."

"Not much to go on."

"Better than nothing. Liz, someone's going to have to take over. Lupertazi invoked the speedy trial clause, motions begin next week. Can you take it?"

Visions of her body bleeding on a filthy New York sidewalk filled her mind, shook her soul, but she drew a deep breath and said "Yes, of course."

"Pick whomever you want as second chair. We'll assign a protective detail to both of you. The files are in Jack's office, I'll have them sent to you."

She mulled her options for second chair. The ones she'd choose hadn't sat second chair in years, they wouldn't be pleased with what could be perceived as demotion. Then she decided. "I'll get Novak."

"Sex crimes?" Anita asked, surprised.

"She's a fine attorney, fearless and smart. She'll do it." Liz dismissed Anita and looked at Adam again. "I'll call her right now. We can go to Jack's office and collect the files."

Adam nodded. Liz was familiar with Jack McCoy's filing system. "Stay in touch," he said. "I want these bastards, Liz."

"And you'll get them, Adam, as long as the cops do their job." She turned and walked out, leaving a fuming Anita in her wake.

"Do their job?" she said, incredulous.

"Easy, Lieutenant, she didn't mean anything personal by it."

Anita gathered her things. "I'm off to make sure my detectives are doing it right. Please call me if there's any change, sir."

--xx—

Tony and Jackie arrived the next morning in answer to Viola's summons. They were riding high. They'd pulled off a hit older, more experienced men would have refused, and not only done it, but left no evidence connecting back to them. They sauntered through the pork store to the back room.

The boss was at his desk, a New York paper in front of him. Tony's uncle, Junior, was sitting nearby, along with the human bowling ball known as Baccala – Tony and Jackie knew his son, who was even heavier.

"You didn't kill them," the old man said, with deadly calm, as he held the paper up, headlines facing out.

Tony grabbed the paper and read. The executive assistant district attorney and his assistant were gunned down in the street, critically wounded, and the hunt was on for their assailants. Two men, in a dark getaway car, brazenly shot them and escaped without interference. The prognosis was not good. Tony passed the paper to Jackie, then said "So? Paper says it's not looking good. Hey, we got 'em, they'll probably die anyway, so that leaves Carmine in the clear. You fulfilled the contract, and our friend in the city will walk on his speedy trial motion. What more do you want?"

"Your father would have drilled them in the back of the head."

Jackie folded the newspaper and put it back on the desk. "Too risky, the man sensed us as it was, he was turning around when I shot him. We drilled 'em, which is what you asked."

"I did, didn't I? You did good. Even if they don't die, the pressure's off our friend. What did you do with your equipment?"

"Lost it in the river," Tony said.

"Good. Go about your business, as usual, but don't draw attention to yourselves. I'll be meeting Johnny Sack in a day or two, collect on a gambling debt. You'll get your cut, but remember, don't do anything to draw attention. Got it?"

"Got it," Tony said.

"Get out of here, with my thanks for a job well done. It took balls to go after an ADA." He picked up his coffee and unfolded the newspaper. Tony and Jackie turned away and started for the door.

"I'll walk you out," Junior said. "I have to talk to you about personal family business." He fell into step with his nephew and his nephew's best friend. Out in the sunshine of an early spring morning, he looked around before speaking. "You did really good, little nephew. Grown men would have balked at that mission. Johnny would be proud of you."

Tony smiled. "Just did what I was asked to do."

"That's right. You're a player now, both of you. You've more than made up for that boneheaded game raid." He patted Tony on the shoulder. "Take a day or two off, take Carm and Meadow to the zoo or something." He looked at Jackie. "You should spend time with your family, too. Stay off the radar. The feds will probably look into this."

Tony unlocked his car. "I'm not worried. The New York cops don't know we exist, and the feds are barely aware of me, I'm just Johnny Boy's kid." He slid into the seat and stuck the key in the ignition. "See you later, Uncle June."

--xx—

Claire woke, in terrible pain. She cried out, and Anita Van Buren rose from her chair.

"Easy, Claire." Anita pressed the call button. "You're in the hospital, you were shot."

"Jack?"

"He's in the next room."

The nurse walked in. "Ms. Kincaid, welcome back to the world."

"Hurt," she moaned.

The nurse put a handle in her hand and placed her thumb on the red button on top of it. She pressed Claire's thumb. "It's a morphine pump," she explained. "Press that button whenever the pain is too much."

Relief flowed through Claire's body and she sighed. Then she turned her head on the pillow and looked at Anita. "Want to see Jack," she said.

"Soon," Anita promised.

Claire faded back into sleep, and Anita turned away. She walked out of Claire's small room, past the two uniformed officers guarding her, and walked the ten feet to Jack's room. Adam Schiff was standing by his bed, and he turned his head when he heard Anita.

"Claire woke up, she asked for Jack."

Adam nodded. "Same here."

"We could cut down on manpower if we put them in the same room," she offered.

Adam considered it, looking around the small room as if measuring it. "True," he said. "I'll talk to their doctors." He cracked his knuckles, Anita winced at the sound. "Where are we in the investigation?"

"Running down every possible lead," she said. "We've have that witness who saw it happen looking at mug books, nothing so far. Lupertazi is of course professing his ignorance, and sends his regrets." She gripped Jack's bedrail. "He must know they're still alive." Her eyes met Adam's. "We can protect them better if we put them together. It's not like they haven't shared a bed."

Adam grunted. "Beside the point," he muttered. "I'll propose consolidation. It makes sense from a security point of view. You're right, Lupertazi must know the hit failed. I sent Donnelly to argue for a continuance, but I don't have a lot of confidence. What's happened to the world? Once upon a time there were rules, families and law enforcement were off limits, and killing a woman unheard of."

"New players, new game, new rules." She touched Adam's elbow. "We have to look at Lupertazi's rising talent. These new guys are impatient with the old ways." She looked down at Jack. "Cut off the head and the body will die," she muttered. "But they didn't succeed in severing the head."

"Might as well have, he's out of the game. I'm not sure Donnelly, with all her brilliance, can get up to speed in time for the motion hearings, let alone trial itself."

"Let's hope she gets that continuance." Anita sighed. "I better get back to work. Last I heard, Lennie had the witness sitting with a sketch artist. Hang in there, Adam, they're tougher than we think."

Adam nodded. "I know Jack is, but I'm not so sure about Claire."

Anita shrugged into her coat. "She is. I'll see you later." With a last look at Jack, she left the room.

--xx—

The squad room was its usual controlled mayhem. Anita stopped by Lennie's desk. He held a sketch, studying it thoughtfully, but he looked up when his boss stood beside his desk. He offered the sketch.

Anita took it. It was of a young man, with long hair, a prominent nose and features that promised to spread over layers of fat. "Any idea who he is?" she asked.

Lennie held the sketch of the second man. "Not a clue. He doesn't raise flags in the various New York LE circles. We found shells at the scene, but they were wiped clean. Whoever these guys are, they know what they're doing. The one saving grace is they're poor shots." He passed the sketch of the second man to Anita.

She studied it. He was approximately the same age as his partner, with light colored hair and reasonably handsome features. "They're kids," she said. "Trying to make their bones, maybe?"

"Maybe. Or maybe they're imported talent, to throw us off Lupertazi."

"It's a thought. Have you sent copies of these to Jersey and upstate?"

He nodded and took the sketches back. "We're waiting to hear if they ring any bells. How are our ADAs?"

"Claire woke briefly while I was there, in a lot of pain, the nurse put her back under with a dose of morphine. Who'd go after a woman? I know the Russians would," she said, answering her own question, "but the Italians have always had this code. Think Lupertazi reached out for help?"

Lennie nodded. "It's possible, it makes sense. We can't tie him to the shootings as of now. And believe me, we've put the heat on high."

"Go talk to the witnesses again, maybe they'll remember some small detail that will give us the break we need."

"Gotcha," the tired detective said. "We'll turn the screws as hard as you let us."

"Good. We need a break, and fast. Keep me informed," she said, and walked to her office.


	4. Chapter 4

**Crimson and Clover**

_-Chapter Four-_

When Claire emerged from her drugged fog again, she was aware of people off to her left. She turned her head. Another bed had been moved into her room; the blinds were closed and she had some difficulty in distinguishing forms and objects. Then a nurse, in pale blue scrubs, moved away from the IV tube he was adjusting, and Claire saw Jack's head. Her eyes took in the scene, as nurses and techs worked on making him comfortable, a doctor at the foot of the bed, writing on a clipboard chart.

"Jack," she whispered.

The doctor heard her. He hung the chart on the foot of Jack's bed and walked to her side, smiling. "Afternoon, Ms. Kincaid. I'm Dr. Ervin, I'm taking care of both of you while you're our guests. The badges felt it would be easier to protect the two of you if you were in the same room. I assume you have no objections."

"No." Her voice cracked, she had a bad case of cottonmouth. "No objection. How is he?"

"Much like you are, though his wounds are worse. We're confident he'll make a full recovery. How are you feeling?"

Cued, as it were, she pressed the button connected to her morphine pump. "Hurting," she said. "What happened?"

Dr. Ervin smiled reassuringly. "Someone put a round through your back, it exited above your breast and went into your arm before moving on and out. You lost a lot of blood, we fixed that, now you need to heal. You have police protection, so you don't have to worry about someone coming back to finish the job."

"And Jack?"

The doctor glanced at his other patient. He'd been told they were lovers, and he sensed she'd become more agitated if he didn't answer honestly. "He was hit next to his spine, and the bullet tumbled around before exiting through his shoulder. He lost his spleen, but he can live just fine without it. You need to rest, Ms. Kincaid, you're safe. When you're up to it, a couple of detectives would like to talk to you."

She nodded. "Send them in. The more time lost waiting for me to talk, the better the chances the bastards will get away with it."

She was remarkably coherent for someone so sedated, so injured, he thought, and shrugged. "They can have a few minutes," he said, and he walked out of the room.

Claire waited, wondering who'd caught their case. Then Lennie and Rey came in, radiating nervousness as they took in the machines, the bodies in the beds, finally focusing on Claire. Lennie stood beside her head, Rey hung back at the foot of the bed.

"How are you feeling, Claire?" Lennie asked.

"Like someone shot me," she said. "Could you help me with a little water?"

Lennie poured water into a cup, stuck a bent straw in it, and helped Claire drink. After putting the cup back on the table, he waited. Claire struggled to remember.

"We'd stopped at Devlin's for a drink," she began, "and then we left. I remember Jack turning, and then pain, like someone hit me with a hammer. Then nothing until I woke up here."

"So you didn't see the gunmen."

"No, sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about, the little cowards shot you in the back."

"No leads?"

"No. We're thinking Lupertazi imported them for the job."

Her eyes narrowed. "Think he'll send them back to finish things?"

Lennie put a light hand on her shoulder. "No. Too dangerous, what with all the muscle standing outside your door. We have a witness who provided a sketch of the shooters, all the guards have a copy."

"Who's taken over the case?"

Rey spoke. "Mr. Schiff assigned it to Elizabeth Donnelly."

She looked at Rey. "She's good, but there's so much, how can she catch up?" Exhaustion overtook her, and her eyelids grew heavy. Lennie watched as she slipped back into what he hoped was peace, and then he and Rey left.

--xx—

Liz Donnelly was hidden behind boxes of files and evidence, struggling to make headway. The feds were pursuing Lupertazi on RICO charges, the state of New York wanted him for murder. The problem, she realized as she went over documents, was the insulation between Carmine Lupertazi and his men. She picked up a file labeled 'Lupertazi, Carmine Jr.'

The eldest son of the elderly family patriarch was not the brightest crayon in the box. He was hotheaded, impulsive, and incapable of thinking of the bigger picture. At the same time, he was intensely loyal to his father, so there was no chance of flipping him. She studied the DD5s summarizing the latest killing, the cops thought Little Carmine was with his father when the hit went down. It made sense. This execution was personal. Anthony Cervaci flipped for the feds, and apparently Carmine Lupertazi knew it. Cervaci's death had been slow and painful, his body dumped near One PP. Nothing like making a statement, Liz thought.

She looked up when Casey Novak knocked on her open door. Liz tossed her highlighter on the open file and leaned back; the chair squeaked as she pushed it to its limit. "Come in."

Casey ambled in, a file in one hand. She sat in the straight-backed chair on the other side of Liz's desk. "We have a problem with our witness," she said, and she placed the file on top of the open one on Liz's desk. "She's suddenly not at all sure she can recognize our shooters."

Liz frowned as she leaned forward, her palms slapping the desktop. "Who got to her?"

Casey shrugged. "Some guy with no neck? Who knows, Liz, she isn't talking."

"Can we make her talk? Take her into custody as a material witness?"

"I think she'd rather rot in jail than end up on a slab in the ME's office."

Liz pushed away from her desk and walked across the room, closing the door. "We have a leak, someone told Lupertazi we had a witness, who she was."

"Hundreds of people work in the system, is it any surprise one of them supplements their income by passing information? And you can bank on it that they didn't talk to Lupertazi. He has his own network." Casey watched Liz pace.

"Two friends of mine are lying in intensive care because of that goon. I want him, and I don't care what we have to do to make that woman talk. She works for us, right? In narcotics?"

"Yes."

"OK, tell her we'll put her in gen pop while we're holding her, that should put the fear of God into her. How many people did she convict, how many are doing time at Rikers?"

"Liz, we can't do that."

Liz glared at Casey. "We can. We can certainly threaten to. Tell her, if she recovers her memory, we'll put her in witness protection when this is over. Set her up with another DA's office in Bumfuck, North Dakota if needed, but she's going to testify."

Casey sighed. There was no arguing with Liz Donnelly even on a good day, and this was far from a good one. She stood. "I'll talk to her again."

"Remember, Casey, kicking ass is your job."

Casey shrugged and walked out of the office. She knew convincing the woman to testify would be a major struggle, the threat of certain death overwhelmed any sense of civic duty. What a goatrope, she thought, as she flagged a taxi, I can't win no matter what I do. Those are my friends, too, lying under guard at Hudson, but sometimes you couldn't get justice for the victims no matter how hard you tried.

--xx—

Claire was awake, poking at the food on the tray. She glanced at Jack – he'd taken one look at lunch and shoved the table away. He felt her eyes and turned his head.

"I'm not eating that shit," he mumbled.

"If you don't eat, they'll hang another bag on your IV pole." She tasted what she thought was mashed potatoes and nearly gagged.

"See?" He smiled. "I prefer a bag to eating that crap."

Claire pushed the table away, its wheels squeaked on the floor. "And bags mean catheters," she said. "I don't know about you, but I'm more than ready to try a trip to the bathroom."

He snorted. "Yours is far less painful than mine. I'm not paralyzed, I want to get up and move."

Their day nurse walked in as he said that. She came to the foot of his bed, an amused smile toying with her lips. "Be that as it may, Mr. McCoy, the doctor has ordered complete bed rest until that wound by your spine heals enough not to rip open." She picked up his chart. "He's concerned about collateral damage, so you'll stay in bed and keep that lovely tube up your penis." She took his vitals and made notations on his chart. "You can handle it, laddie." Then she turned her attention to Claire.

"Now you," she said, with the same amused note in her voice, "can have yours removed. Dr. Ervin feels you can get up and take a few steps around the room, once I check your wounds." She reached for the neckline of Claire's hospital gown and eased it off her shoulder, pinning her arm with the material. The exit wound over her breast had seeped fluid during the night. Ms. Baker frowned and gently pulled the bandage away. The stitches were still tightly closed, but red-tinged seepage was clearly visible. "Have you been moving around?"

"No," Claire said. "You guys are keeping me too stoned to risk it."

Annie Baker got alcohol wipes and fresh bandages from the drawer in the stainless steel storage cabinet and returned to Claire. She deftly cleaned the wound, applied a fresh bandage, then said "Sit up." She helped Claire sit, then pulled off the smaller bandage covering the entry wound. That one was clean and healing well. She wiped the area with an alcohol towelette, then recovered it, pulled Claire's gown up and tied it at the neck, and helped ease her back on the pillow. She checked Claire's vitals, frowning at the thermometer and making a note. "I'll get Dr. Ervin," she said.

"Why?" Claire asked.

"You may have a slight infection." She adjusted the blanket and smiled reassuringly at Claire. "Nothing a round of antibiotics can't handle." She tossed the used materials in the hazardous waste container and walked out of their room.

"This sounds like fun," Claire muttered.

"And she forgot your catheter, too," Jack needled.

"Screw you and the horse you rode in on," she retorted. She knew his catheter was uncomfortable, but that's what he got for having a dangling appendage. Dr. Ervin walked in, followed by Annie Baker, who carried a small kit.

"What are you up to, Claire?" he asked, pleasantly, "sneaking about during the night?"

"It's your hospital," Claire said, "if you let bugs run free, it's on you."

Nurse Baker pressed the button that raised the top of Claire's bed into a semi- upright position and then undressed her again. Dr. Ervin edged his nurse aside and carefully removed the fresh bandage, which already showed soiling from seepage. He studied the wound, then held out his hand and said "Swab."

Annie passed a long, cotton-tipped stick to the doctor. He rubbed it against the fluid leaking from her stitches, then popped it into a plastic tube. Annie put it in the kit and waited.

"Claire," he said, "I'm going to run some tests on that. I may have to open you up again, debride the tissue, and stitch you up again. I hope not, I'm hoping antibiotics will take care of it, but we've had a few cases of MERSA lately and I'm not going to take chances." He smoothed the tape on top of the gauze square. "If it's MERSA, and I'm not saying it is, you can lose some of the surrounding tissue if we don't treat it in time. The last thing I want to do is remove tissue from this area." He pulled her gown up and tied it. "I'll be back as soon as I have the results."

He turned to Jack. "And I hear you're complaining about both our fine cuisine and your catheter." He forced a smile, wanting to hide his concern about Claire's infection. "I'll make a deal with you. I'll remove the catheter right now if you'll eat."

Jack looked at the cold food and thought. It was a no-brainer. "I'll eat."

Dr. Ervin nodded, then pulled the drape between the beds. Lovers they might be, but no man wanted his girlfriend to witness this particular procedure. Dr. Ervin pulled the blanket down and lifted Jack's gown, then, with one swift, painful movement, pulled the hard plastic tube out of Jack's penis. Jack gasped, then let loose with a string of profanity. "You wanted it out," Dr. Ervin said. "Now, eat, or I'll put it back." He rolled the tubing up and put it in the waste container, then he opened the curtain. "I'll be back shortly," he said to Claire.

When the doctor was gone, Claire looked at Jack. "Hurt, huh?"

He frowned, forcing a bite down. "Yeah. How's your shoulder, does it hurt?"

"Probably, the painkillers do a good job." She absently reached up and touched her wound, touched her breast, remembering the doctor's words about tissue loss.

Jack noticed. "It's probably nothing, Claire."

She nodded, still touching her breast and fearing the worst. Half an hour later, the doctor returned. He perched on the end of Claire's bed. "You have an infection, but it's not MERSA. We can treat it with an aggressive course of antibiotics, which carry certain side effects – nausea and diarrhea. Despite our best efforts, infections are present in hospitals. Mrs. Baker will be in shortly with the first injection, through your IV tube." He glanced at the plate of food on the table near Jack and spoke to him. "I presume you made an effort?"

"I did," he grumbled.

"OK, I'll be back for evening rounds. Claire, do not try to get up, you could split your head open." He stood. "You have visitors, shall I send them in?"

Claire glanced at Jack, caught his almost imperceptible nod. "Yeah, sure," she said.

"OK, as soon as Mrs. Baker gives you the antibiotics."

He left and Annie Baker came in with a capped hypodermic syringe. She opened one of the ports in the IV feed and inserted the needle. "You'll be getting one of these every eight hours," she explained. "If you're going to have the usual side effects, they'll kick in about three hours from now. Ring for the nurse to help you." Then she pulled the drape between the beds and removed Claire's catheter. "Feel better? And do not try getting up by yourself." She pushed the curtain back so her patients could see each other.

Claire nodded, and the nurse left. A few moments later, Liz Donnelly came in, followed by Lennie and Rey. "How are you?" she asked, looking from one to the other.

"Getting better," Jack said. "Where does the investigation stand?"

Lennie cleared his throat. "As best we can tell, it was imported talent. Where they came from is the question. Lupertazi has been known to bring in shooters from the old country, but we can't find anyone who arrived and left within forty-eight hours. So we think it's local hire." He shrugged. "We're looking at his connections outside of New York."

"He has strong ties to a Jersey family," Rey said, "but we don't see any of them having the balls to try this. They're mostly older guys with families, into small time stuff, like book-making and hijacking. Contract killings aren't their thing."

"We're still checking them out," Liz said, "the Jersey cops are being helpful."

"The witness?" Claire said.

Liz looked at her, feeling empathy, a foreign emotion for Elizabeth Donnelly. Claire was so young, naïve, so vulnerable. "Right now she's having a memory lapse. We're holding her on a material witness warrant."

"Isn't she an ADA in narcotics?" Jack asked.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean these guys don't scare her to death. She'll talk, give her a week or so at Rikers and she'll tell us everything she remembers." She watched him process that, she wasn't used to seeing Jack McCoy in a weakened state. "You guys are safe, that's the main thing. We'll nail the bastards, you can count on it."

"I'm not so sure," Jack said, and he looked at Claire. "It's not that we don't appreciate the company, but Claire really needs to rest, she's picked up an infection." The last thing he wanted was the Ice Queen upsetting Claire Kincaid.

Alarmed, Liz touched Claire's hand. "Are you all right?"

Claire nodded. "They have me on major antibiotics." She was sleepy, and she pulled her hand away from Liz's. Liz took the hint and left, Lennie and Rey in her wake, with frustrated expressions all around.

Alone, Jack turned his head toward Claire. "Are you really OK?"

"I feel like crap, but what can I expect? Someone put a .38 in me."

"I'm so sorry. If I'd been quicker –"

"If you'd been quicker, you'd probably be dead." She really wasn't feeling well, and assumed it was the medicine at work. She closed her eyes, hoping for sleep and the escape it provided. She knew Jack felt guilty, when there was no guilt to be had, and she felt inept when it came to reassuring him. She barely remembered the incident, they'd been walking, she thought, back to their car, maybe, she wasn't sure. She clearly remembered the searing impact of the bullet in her back, her head striking the sidewalk, Jack's body on hers. She had impressions of being manhandled, of bright overhead lights, and then waking up in a strange bed. She didn't know what Jack remembered, she hadn't asked him.

"I know you're not asleep," he said, softly, and she opened her eyes and turned her head to face him. "I really am sorry."

"I know." She took a deep breath and winced. "Do you remember what happened?"

He nodded. "I had my arm around you, I felt somebody coming up too fast behind us and tried to turn around. I saw them, saw their guns, felt the bullet in my back. I tried to shield you, but it happened so fast. I did crawl on you but they took off. I remember the sound of an engine."

"You know what they look like?" Her eyes opened wider; it was unlike Jack to withhold information like that.

"No," he said, "just an impression. Two young guys, one tall, the other short. I couldn't describe their features. They seemed perfectly calm, they fired and then got in the car idling at the curb. Beyond that, nothing, except trying to cover you in case they wanted to make sure the job was done right."

"They're never going to ID these guys," Claire said, so weary of it all. Her body ached, she felt nauseous, and her hand felt for the call button.

"I don't think they'll come back," Jack said. "No point, it's not our case anymore."

Claire pressed the button, fighting nausea. She threw her sheet and blanket back and sat up. She was so dizzy she grabbed the wheeled table. The nurse came in just as the table started rolling, taking Claire with it. She caught Claire before she fell on the floor. "Sick," Claire gasped. She lost the battle, vomiting what little she'd eaten onto her gown, legs, and the nurse.

The nurse, Claire couldn't remember her name, double-tapped the call button, summoning help. Annie Baker hurried into the room, took in the scene, and yanked the drape between the beds. Then she helped her subordinate undress Claire and carry her into the bathroom. Certain she'd finished vomiting, Annie then turned on the shower and they washed their patient, including her hair. While Annie dried Claire, Eloise Parker got a fresh gown. They soon had her dressed and seated on Jack's bed while they changed the sheets. When she was back in her bed, they mopped the floor and bagged the soiled linens. Eloise removed the mop, bucket, and bagged linens while Annie updated Claire's chart.

"You OK now?" she asked. Claire nodded, embarrassed. "We'll put you on clear fluids for the next twenty-four hours, that should help," Annie said. "Buzz if you need us. Or," she turned to look at Jack, "you buzz us if you think she's in trouble."

"Will do," he said.

Annie hooked the chart on the foot of the bed. "It's common, Claire, antibiotics aren't easy on the body. It's nothing to be embarrassed about." She smiled. "Jack didn't notice, did you, Jack?"

"Didn't see a thing," he said, smiling. The concern telegraphed through his dark brown eyes belied his statement.

"Get some rest," Annie counseled as she left the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Crimson and Clover**

_-Chapter Five-_

Elizabeth Donnelly stared at Sarah McKenzie, the ADA from narcotics who'd seen the hit go down. "Sarah," she said, with as much gentleness as she could generate, "we will protect you. This is ridiculous and you know it. Would you tolerate it from one of your witnesses?" Sarah shook her head, her expression one of abject misery. "So why are you doing it?"

"I'm worried about my son. It's clear the rules changed, women and children are no longer off limits." She twisted a tissue between her fingers.

"We'll take care of him, too. Where is he now?"

"With his father, who is not a happy camper, I might add."

"I imagine not. Do you have an old friend, or a relative, who lives far away from New York, that no one's aware of?"

Sarah stared at the shredded tissue. "Yeah," she whispered, "but I don't think Tom would go for that." She raised her head and looked at Liz. "He's making noises about suing for full custody."

Liz frowned. "I'll talk to him. He works in the US Attorney's office, right?"

Sarah nodded. "Talking to him won't help, Liz."

"We'll see about that." She stood and walked to the door. "Sarah, I don't want to keep you in jail. I understand why you're doing this, but I can't allow it. I'm sending you to holding for the afternoon, I'll see you again around four." She opened the door and summoned the guard. "Take her to the PC holding cell, and have someone stay nearby." The woman nodded and reached for her handcuffs. "I don't think that's necessary," Liz said, sharply.

"Procedure, maam." The guard gently cuffed the young ADA and took her by the elbow. "I don't like it, either, but Captain Morris would have my butt…"

"OK, fine," Liz snapped. "Sarah, think about it, and I'll see you later." Liz closed her office door after them, then sat at her desk and flipped through her Rolodex. She punched the number for the US Attorney. "Sam Henry, please, Elizabeth Donnelly." She waited while she was connected, tapping a pen on a legal pad. "Sam, Liz, how are you? Is it convenient if I come over? I have a serious problem and I think you're the only one who can help me resolve it. Thanks, see you in half an hour."

She put her coat on, opting to go empty-handed. She grabbed her purse, told her secretary where she was going, and went down on the elevator, her mind racing with different approaches. She hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of the federal building. She arrived in Sam Henry's spacious office suite exactly on time.

His secretary showed her in and offered coffee. Liz accepted, then shed her coat and hung it on a newel post in the corner. Sam watched her from behind his desk, waiting until she'd taken a seat to ease back into his. Sam was gaining weight, Liz thought, evaluating him, why is it when men age their heads get fat? She'd known Sam Henry for almost twenty years, stood as godmother to his eldest daughter Samantha, played Mah Jong with his wife Nan. So why, she asked herself, as the secretary served coffee, did she feel so nervous about coming to him for a favor?

When they were alone, Sam smiled at Liz. "Out with it," he said, pleasantly, "since I already know what you want."

Her eyebrows nearly hit her hairline. "Oh?"

His smile widened. "Your reluctant witness, and my overprotective father, are hardly a secret."

Liz sighed. "So what do I do, Sam? I can keep her locked up, but she doesn't deserve that, she's a good person, a fine prosecutor. But she's a mother first, and she's terrified Tom McKenzie is going to use this goatrope to seize permanent custody of the boy."

Sam raised his coffee cup. "Tom's been to see me about young Heath. He's scared, Liz, and rightly so. Adam Schiff's top prosecutor and his lover, uh assistant, are lying in Hudson Medical Center under heavy guard. The rules changed and no one sent us a memo. Of course Tom's scared for his son, he makes a prime target if Sarah testifies."

"And if Sarah doesn't testify, it's open season on prosecutors and their families. Sam, you know we can hide Heath, send him to live with some distant relative or family friend. You can grant Tom a leave of absence. We have options, if we work together, to protect Heath and his mother."

"But not Tom?" He sipped his coffee. "Tom is just as vulnerable as Heath, or Sarah for that matter. And he's essential, right now he's up to his neck in a case with the DEA."

"His assistant can't take over in the interim?"

Sam sighed. "Do you even have a viable suspect, Liz?" When she shook her head, he said "This could drag on for months. No one can live constantly looking over their shoulder, afraid to open their mail, jumping at each knock on the door." He finished his coffee and pushed the cup and saucer aside. "Look, I want to help, I know it's important. If Sarah caves into these threats, then no one in our offices is safe. Why don't we play it like this – release Sarah, and if you come up with viable suspects, we'll send Tom and Heath away, I'll transfer him to Montana, to the home-grown terrorist task force while putting out the word he's going to Miami or something. After Sarah testifies, she can join them until this blows over and it's safe to come back."

Liz carefully placed her cup and saucer on the accent table beside her chair. "And in the meantime, the rainbow of mobs running loose in this city will think it's open season on all of us, that Sarah was successfully intimidated into silence. How many more ADAs will be shot, killed or maimed? Jack McCoy and Claire Kincaid were incredibly lucky, you know that."

"I do. And I know we can't tell the corps of ADAs and federal attorneys that it's a game." He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I think our only option is to quietly release Sarah McKenzie, and put protective details on her, Tom, and Heath. And pray your boys in blue find the shooters, tie them to Lupertazi, and clean this mess up."

"I don't like it, Sam, but I don't see another way." She rubbed her hands together. "I hope like hell New York doesn't turn into a shooting gallery."

"Maybe McCoy and Kincaid were an aberration," he said, "and the rules didn't change after all. And if that's the case, the other families will turn on Lupertazi, none of them wants the additional heat this case is bringing to bear."

"That's entirely possible, but what about the Russians, the Chinese? They barely kept within the lines established by the Italians, if they think we caved to intimidation because of Jack and Claire, what's to stop them from going after the ADAs prosecuting them?"

"Nothing, but what other choice do we have? Let her go, and let's see how this plays out."

"With our ADAs on the firing line." She frowned. "The feds are bigger game, you guys have always been untouchable. We aren't."

"Worried about yourself, Liz?" The sympathy in his voice was genuine.

"No, but I am concerned that Jack and Claire have targets on their backs. That the goons who tried to whack them will finish the job to make a point."

"Why? They aren't prosecuting Lupertazi now. You are." He frowned and leaned forward, his elbows on his desk. "Do you have security?"

She nodded. "I do, but a determined man will get past them. I can't worry about myself right now. Killing Jack and Claire sends a clear message – we finish what we start, regardless of changed circumstances."

"I assume Adam Schiff has Protective Services all over this."

"Yes, but I meant what I said about a determined man. My God, Sam, they were shot on a sidewalk, in full view of witnesses, as if they were stepping on a spider. Do you really think a couple of PS agents will deter that kind of balls?"

"I think you're letting anxiety get the better of you. I know you once had a relationship with McCoy, isn't it possible that's coloring your thinking?"

She waved his assessment away. "Ancient history. I simply think Lupertazi can't let this go unfinished, especially if he's going to catch a rash of shit from the other bosses anyway. He has to prove he can do it."

"Then you need to be talking to Adam Schiff. As for Tom McKenzie, I'll hold up my end to insure his ex-wife testifies. That's all I can do."

Liz sighed, she knew she'd gotten all the concessions she could from Sam Henry. She knew it was good advice, and that he was conceding more to her than he would any other ADA. Take it and run, she thought. Run straight to Adam Schiff and get his approval for the subterfuge. She stood and got her coat. "Thanks, Sam. Give my regards to Nan and the kids."

He smiled as he walked around his desk. "I will. You need to come for dinner one night, Samantha's a senior now and waiting for early acceptance to UVA. She'd love to see you."

Liz buttoned her coat. "I know I've been a stranger lately. I'll make up for it soon, I promise. Thanks again, I'll tell Sarah what we've decided and hope she has the good sense to realize it won't get any better than this."

"And Tom will see reason, don't worry. Expect a call from Nan." He opened the door for her. "Take care, Liz, I mean that. And let me know what Adam says."

--xx—

Adam was at his desk, shirt sleeves rolled up and tie knot pulled away from his neck. He looked up with a flash of annoyance when Liz walked in, quickly replaced with concern. He stood and walked to her, taking her coat. "Liz," he said, hanging her coat in the small closet next to his private bathroom. "Where's your detail?"

Her smile was grim. "I don't have one. Yet. I'm still arguing with Piper Craig about that." She sat on the couch. "I'm more concerned about Jack and Claire."

Adam sank down on the far end of the couch. "Why," he said.

"Because I've just come from a meeting with Sam Henry, and we both think Lupertazi will want the job finished, that he has something to prove by breaking the rules. We've worked out a way to get Sarah McKenzie to testify." She recounted her conversation with Sam.

"I see," Adam said. "I'd hoped reassigning the case would protect them, but I see your point." He sighed heavily. "I guess I'll be talking to Agent Craig."

"Any word on when they'll be released from the hospital?"

"Claire has an infection, the doctor said they'd want to keep her a few more days. And Jack won't leave without her."

"Big surprise." She rubbed her neck. "We can assume Lupertazi, or whomever he hired to shoot them, knows Claire is Jack's weak spot."

"Van Buren is certain it was a local import, they're focusing on Jersey, the Lupertazi family has long, historic ties to the Sopranos and north Jersey."

"I don't know much about OC, but I was under the impression the Sopranos were just a glorified crew."

Adam shook his head. "They've run north Jersey for fifty years. Crude and crass, yes, but they're a force on their own. They always back Carmine Lupertazi's play."

"Prospects?"

"Nothing we can remotely prove at this point, but the Jersey FBI think the young Soprano and his running buddy are worth a closer look. He's trying to make a name for himself, move out from under his uncle's shadow ever since his father died. Thinking it and proving it are two different animals."

"I'll talk to Van Buren tonight or tomorrow. I have to spring McKenzie." She sighed, she was so tired and there was so much to do. "You'll talk to Agent Craig, make sure Jack and Claire are protected?"

"Of course. And you, too. Don't even think of arguing with me."

Liz stood. "I wouldn't think of it," she said, and attempted a smile. "Thanks for approving our little scheme, Adam."

"Whatever it takes to bring down the shooters," he said, walking her to the door as she wiggled into her coat.


	6. Chapter 6

**Crimson and Clover**

_-Chapter Six-_

Jack and Claire were released after two weeks in the hospital. They'd been visited by agents from Protective Services, the branch of New York government tasked with safeguarding ADAs and their big cheese, the DA himself, as well as the mayor and other highly placed functionaries in law enforcement and government. Informed that they would be under heavy guard, they gave in as gracefully as possible, with the caveat that Claire share Jack's apartment. Two large agents manned the wheelchairs transporting them to the street and into an SUV driven by the female agent they'd met yesterday. Locking doors with the push of a button, Piper Craig pulled away from the curb and slipped into the stream of traffic.

Jack held Claire's hand. They were sandwiched between the two men who'd wheeled them out of the hospital, a third man sat in the front passenger seat. No one spoke. Agent Craig took a circuitous route to Jack's apartment on the upper West side, and pulled into the service alley running behind the backs of the apartment buildings and stores. Another agent waited at the service door of Jack's building.

Piper Craig went into the apartment with them, her eyes professionally scanning everything, though she'd been there earlier, stocking the kitchen and putting Claire's clothing away. Drapes were pulled over drawn shades. It reminded Claire of a cave. Lamps provided some light.

"Until this is resolved," Piper began, "you'll need to keep the windows covered and lighting to a minimum. We've stocked the pantry and refrigerator and," she smiled at Jack, "the liquor cabinet." She turned to Claire. "I more or less cleaned out your closet and drawers, it's all here. I can show you where I put it. We have a tap on your phone line. Two agents will be outside the door at all times, and you'll be driven to work and back. In short, you won't see the light of day without guards. You'll get used to us, and I hope you realize this is for your protection. We're not here to make you miserable, so please don't try to duck us. We have to insist you curtail your social lives, that you not go out in public. It's very difficult to cover a restaurant or bar. They got to you once, they can certainly do it again. So please, cooperate with us."

Claire nodded, but she was uncomfortable with the thought of this woman handling her things. Did she bring her makeup, blow dryer, Tampax? She excused herself and went into the bathroom. It was all there, in a plastic box under the sink. Claire sighed. Piper Craig was nothing if not efficient. She flushed the toilet for effect, then returned to the living room.

"We'll do your shopping," Piper said to Jack, looking up as Claire came back. "Make a list each week and I'll take care of it. I trust you found everything?"

Claire blushed and walked into the kitchen. She got a Diet Coke, using it to wash down a couple of pain pills, then she went back to the living room and sat on the couch. Jack sat beside her, reaching for her drink. He fished his own medicine out of his pocket and slipped a couple of pills into his mouth, chasing them with Diet Coke. Then he put his arm around Claire.

Piper knelt beside Claire and lightly touched her knee. "Uh, I looked for birth control pills…"

Claire blushed again. "It doesn't matter, I have to start over after two weeks in the hospital. Do I make my own appointment with my gynecologist, or do you do that, too?"

"I understand this is awkward, but it could be worse. I could have been ordered to move in with you. Make your appointment, I'll take you." She glanced from one to the other. "We have to make this work, people. Your boss feels you're still in danger, and we agree. Whoever ordered the hit on you has opened a huge can of whupass, and it's spilled on the other families. They're not happy, so he has something to prove, which means whacking you for real this time. Almost only counts in horse shoes and hand grenades in their business." She stood, her knees cracking. She dug a card out of her hip pocket. "My phone numbers, I carry a cellular phone at all times, so if you need anything, try it first. Any time of the day or night." She gave the card to Jack, who looked at it before sliding it into his shirt pocket. Piper looked at her watch. "I have a meeting with your boss. I'll be bringing dinner to your door guards, can I bring something for you?"

Jack looked at Claire, she shook her head. "No, thank you," he said. "We can take care of ourselves."

"If you change your mind, call. I have to physically check on you before I go for the night. I'm sorry for the intrusions," she said, reading their expressions, "but I have a job to do, and that's keeping you from harm. I have no intention of being the agent who let a hit happen. So get used to me, I have a key – Mr. Schiff insisted," she said when Jack glared at her, "so I'll be checking in first thing in the morning and last thing before I go home. And yes, I'll knock first but I won't wait for an invitation to enter." She walked to the door, then turned. "We can make this work if we respect each other. I'll do my damndest to respect your privacy, but not at the cost of failure." She opened the door and walked out, closing it softly and testing the lock.

Claire looked at Jack, blushing furiously. "I can't believe she went through my things, handled my personal stuff. Looking for my birth control—"

"Hush," he whispered, gently pressing her face into his shoulder and kissing the top of her head. "She's looking out for you, even if it is embarrassing. I doubt she's a panty-sniffer."

Claire laughed. She pulled her head away from his shoulder and cupped his cheek. "Oh my God," she said, "thanks for planting that image in my head."

"You're welcome." He grinned. "I'm sure she views turnabout as fair play, so when she didn't find your pills, she probably put condoms in my nightstand."

"Sweet Jesus Christ, would you stop?" Tears formed in her eyes as she tried to stop laughing.

Jack eased away from her and got up. He walked into the bedroom and Claire heard the sound of a drawer sliding open. "Well shit," he called, "I was right." He walked back to the couch with a smirk.

"Did you check the size?" Claire reached for his hand and pulled him down, snuggling against him. "I doubt that piece of information was included in your medical records." She tickled his abs. "Not so funny when you're on the receiving end, huh?"

"I'm not looking," he said.

"And I'm not doing it bareback, buddy boy."

"I'm not doing it until I can move without feeling like someone's jabbing me with a hot needle."

Claire fell silent, she knew too well how much bullet wounds hurt, even weeks after being shot. They'd been told the interior stitches would dissolve on their own, but the outer layer, keeping the healing epidermis together, would have to be removed by a physician. They were scheduled for a wound check in three days; until the stitches came out, and for a few days afterward, the risk remained for ripping fragile new skin open. Dr. Ervin had counseled strongly against sex for another two weeks. It would be another four weeks or so before the pill would be effective once she resumed taking them. One side effect of pain medicine she appreciated was loss of libido. She hoped it knocked Mr. Winkie out for the count, too.

"I'm sleepy," Jack whispered. "I'm going to take a nap." He wiggled up and held his hand out for Claire's. She let him help her up. They walked into the bedroom, and Claire turned the covers back, then changed from the jeans and oversized oxford shirt she'd worn home into cotton drawstring pants and one of Jack's tee shirts. She snuggled next to him for the first time in three weeks, turning on her side, spooning against him. She covered his clasped hands under her breasts and let herself relax completely.

She awoke with a jerk at the sound of a key in the front door lock. Jack slept through it, she glanced down at him as she heard Piper Craig announce herself. Claire eased back on the pillow and pulled Jack's limp arm around her waist. Then the overhead light cut through her closed eyes and she opened them, shielding them with one hand as she sat up.

Piper stood in the doorway, tense, but she quickly flipped the switch to 'off' when she saw them in bed. "Sorry," she murmured.

Claire eased out of bed and walked around it to meet Piper in the doorway. Piper stepped back and followed Claire into the living room. Claire abruptly changed direction and snagged a drink from the refrigerator, offering one to her keeper. Piper accepted, and they sat on opposite ends of the couch. Claire took two more Percocet, then crossed her legs and faced the woman who'd become an intimate part of her life for God knew how long.

"We need to establish some ground rules," Claire said, not unpleasantly. "Just us girls if you will."

Piper glanced at the open bedroom door and raised her eyebrows.

"Jack would sleep through the Second Coming," Claire said. "And that's when he's not exhausted and drugged. Look, I'm a very private person, and I find it awkward in the extreme to know you've gone through my personal things."

Piper sipped her drink. "I understand that, I'd feel the same way, but you have to understand the nature of my job. Like it or not, you have no secrets where I'm concerned. I can't do my job otherwise. I had to move you into this apartment before you were released from the hospital, for several reasons – it's unlikely a hitman would be watching your place as long as you were hospitalized, and it would have taken you too long to do it yourself, given your injuries. And I had to anticipate everything you'd need while staying here. I assumed birth control was a high priority, and I couldn't have you wandering around a pharmacy buying cosmetics and Tampax. Of course," she said, dryly, "I can't afford Lancome, so I made the assumption that only proves the rule. That said, couldn't have you in a high end department store, either, for security reasons. Everything is driven by security. So I'm your underpaid personal shopper."

"You really bought condoms for Jack?" Claire didn't try to hide her smile.

"Nah, Jeff did that. I mean, c'mon, we're supposed to protect you, and that means even from yourselves. I'd get a major rash of shit if you got knocked up because we didn't anticipate every single contingency."

Claire shook her head. "I do not believe this."

"Oh, believe it. It's happened before, which is why it's now a written rule. Seriously. It's a major complication for a lot of people, for a lot of reasons. So not only do we discreetly provide contraception, we keep up with cycles and personal hygiene products, as well as doctors appointments." Piper kept a straight face.

"Jesus H. Christ," Claire said, embarrassed to her core.

"We have to know you better than you know yourself to protect you." Piper drank. "I know it's embarrassing, but it's the embarrassing stuff that's cost us people. We were guarding the daughter of the Israeli Minister of Defense a few years ago, and we kept out of her personal business. She woke during the middle of the night, her period unexpectedly starting, and she rushed out to buy supplies, shaking her agents in the process because she was too embarrassed. She caught two rounds in the back of the head." Piper stared off into space, into the horrific memory of a young girl slain in a bodega around the corner from the diplomatic apartment maintained by the Israeli embassy. "Since that day we don't give a rat's ass how humiliated you are, we are going to be aware of every single thing that could come up and cause a fatal mistake out of misguided sensitivity. So if that means putting a box of condoms in Mr. McCoy's bedside table, they'll be there, just as you'll find Tampax under the sink, next to an abundant supply of toilet paper and soap. An agent will do your laundry. I, or another female agent, will accompany you into the bathroom at work." An indifferent shrug accompanied Piper's litany of personal indignities.

A mischievous spark flickered in Claire's eyes. "So, what size did Jeff buy?"

"Size?" Piper was puzzled and she tilted her head, processing the options and answers.

"Condom size." A faint blush crept up Claire's neck. "He hates them, by the way."

"Most men do, or so I've been told. Uh, I don't know, I didn't ask. I didn't know they came in sizes." It was Piper's turn to blush. "The guys handle guy stuff, I get the girlie stuff." She got up. "Want me to order something for dinner?"

Claire watched her, delighted to know the agent could be embarrassed. "No, I'll wait until Jack wakes up, see what he wants."

"Jack is awake." He walked into the living room, in cotton pants and a tee shirt, rubbing his face. "And I heard the last part of that conversation, Miz Kincaid. If you're so damned curious, go look for yourself." He grinned, and went for a drink. He plopped on the couch next to Claire without spilling it. "You bogarting the meds?"

Claire opened the drawer in the end table beside the couch and picked up a bottle, read the label, put it back and grabbed the other one. She opened it and tipped two into Jack's palm, then capped the bottle and put it back.

"Damn, you are bogarting them," he said. "They gave us the same stuff, and you're hoarding yours?" He put the pills in his mouth and chased them with his soda. Then he rubbed the healing, itching exit wound on his chest. "Did I hear something about food in between speculation about my penis?" He bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing at Claire's expression.

"Jesus, Jack," she sputtered.

"I'm sure Agent Craig has heard the word penis before. She's probably seen one or two, too." He cast an amused glance at the agent and her determined effort not to smile.

The phone rang. Jack started to reach for it, but Piper grabbed it. "Hello," she said. "Who's calling?" Piper held the phone against her shoulder. "Do you know a Danielle Melnick?" Jack nodded and held his hand out, wiggling his fingers impatiently. Piper passed the receiver to him.

"Danielle, Jack." He sipped his drink, combating a growing case of cotton mouth.

"Who the hell was that, Jack?"

"Oh, that's my minder, Piper Craig of Protective Services."

"Geez, I know some of those people, I wouldn't wish them on a Nazi. You'll probably kill her before the week is out, and I'll happily defend you for a very nominal sum." Danielle sounded like a merry gremlin on steroids.

"Uh, Danielle, this line is tapped." His merriment matched hers.

"Good, those self-righteous asses should know what I think of them."

"What happened, did one of them tell you there was no Santa?"

"Damn close. Anyway, how are you, Jack, how's Claire? They wouldn't let me see you at the hospital, official visitors only."

"We're as well as can be expected." He glanced at Claire, asking permission with his eyes. "Why don't you come see for yourself? Claire and I aren't permitted to go out and play. You can bring Chinese." He warned Piper off with a glare.

"Deal. How many eight hundred pound gorillas are hanging around?"

"Three or four. Two outside the door, for sure. Agent Craig is temporarily inside, discussing the state of my phallus with Claire." Claire smacked him on the shoulder.

"I'll be there shortly, do try to behave, for Claire's sake. I don't think the girl has ever seen you in your rebellious mode."

"Later, Danielle." Jack clicked off and leaned over to seat the receiver in its charger. He looked at Piper. "One of my closest friends is coming to visit. It won't be necessary to search her or to sample my dinner."

Piper shrugged. "And here I was looking forward to a cavity search. I've heard of Danielle Melnick, we had to protect her once."

"And she was a royal pain in the ass?" Jack said.

"Indeed, until my boss said he'd withdraw us and let her deal with whatever came her way. I'll be on my way, I'll tell the guys she's coming and to let her pass without interference." Piper had withdrawn into a cold dignity. "I'll see you in the morning."


	7. Chapter 7

**Crimson and Clover**

_-Chapter Seven-_

Carmine Lupertazi looked at his eldest son. "I cannot permit you to do this."

"The family honor is at stake. Tony and Jackie screwed up, those lawyers lived, and now we look like fools."

Carmine studied Little Carmine, wondering again what gene went south when his son was conceived. He shook his head. "And Tony and Jackie will fix it. I've told you, nothing can connect us to this situation."

"Dad, we're at the crossroads of a precipice. We have to act."

Carmine looked at Johnny, who maintained a neutral expression. "What do you think?"

Johnny lit a cigarette, considering his words. Carmine loved Little Carmine, but he also knew the kid was an idiot. "I think we have to let Jackie and Tony clean up their mess. Right now those prosecutors are heavily guarded, no one can get near them. Jackie and Tony will wait it out, while we continue with business as usual." He stared at the younger Carmine. "Your father has to prepare for trial, he doesn't need this distraction, to worry about you taking matters into your own hands. Jackie and Tony will finish the job, trust me, they're jockeying for the position of acting boss when Carlo goes to the can. And he will, if my information is correct. The feds have enough RICO predicates lined up against him that he'll never get out. We sit tight, let Tony and Jackie assume all the risk, while we reap all the benefits. We've shown the other families that it's possible to hit a DA and live to do business. Once they're taken care of, the rest of those cocksuckers will fall all over themselves to do business with us."

"I hear Tony wants to bring his cousin Tony Blundetto into it."

Johnny shrugged. "So what? Blundetto's a smart guy, if he thinks the risk is worth it, why not? It's a smart move on Soprano's part."

Little Carmine chafed under Johnny's withering appraisal of his worth and intelligence, but he held his tongue. He knew his father would side with Johnny Sacrimoni. "OK, but they better do something quick, we're losing the respect of the guys on the street."

Johnny sneered. "The guys on the street? They shit in their pants at the thought of a district attorney. If anything, they're in awe that we'd whack two of them and get away with it."

"But we didn't whack them! They're still alive."

"And under heavy guard. Little Carmine, you have to learn patience. Look at your father, he never acts in haste. He's delegated the job and he patiently waits for results. And trust me, he'll get results."

"Listen to Johnny, my son. Jackie Aprile and Tony Soprano fear and respect me, fear and respect Johnny. They've promised to finish the job, and they will. Watch and learn. Not everything happens quickly. Some things are worth waiting for, and this is one of those things. Now. Get us some coffee and we'll go over the receipts for Sunday's game."

--xx—

It had been ten weeks since the shooting, and Claire was bristling under the continued presence of the Protective Services Squad. Liz Donnelly was ready to begin motion arguments in Carmine Lupertazi's trial, arguments she and Jack should be making. She was convinced any possible threat had dissipated, and she wanted her life back.

Jack didn't disagree. They spent the day interviewing witnesses for the homicide of an infant, which put Claire on edge. She hated these types of cases most of all. They got home late, escorted to the door by Piper Craig, who, sensing Claire's mood, didn't speak except to say good night. They'd eaten at the office, so Claire went straight to the shower when she got home. To her surprise, Jack joined her.

When they were dry, he led her to the bed and began massaging her back. He leaned over and turned on the radio, then returned to the rigid muscles of her lower back. "It's terrible, I know," he whispered, "but we'll get justice for that little boy."

"I don't understand how Ruthie can defend that woman. Ohh, god, yes, there."

He moved his fingers in circles on the knot. "Ruthie's doing her job. Just like we are." He expanded the circles. "What's bugging you more, the case, or our security detail?"

"I don't know. I'm so tired of them, always there, I can't even pee by myself."

"Neither can I." His hands moved up her back. "I'm going to talk to Adam in the morning, it's time to call off the dogs." He worked her shoulders, feeling the tension evaporate.

She turned over and grabbed his hands. "I want to forget it all," she whispered.

He eased down on the bed and kissed her. She let his hands go and put her arms around him. He felt her need, the desire to obliterate everything but physical sensation. He rolled between her legs, supporting his weight on his elbows, looking into her soul through her eyes. If screwing her senseless would help, he would do it; there were times when raunchy sex was the only way to drive the demons away, times when she was insatiable. He would take his cues from her. He hoped sound didn't carry through the door, but then he reached the point where he didn't care. He drove her to orgasm after orgasm, then rolled on his back and let her ride him until she could move no longer. She was drained, so he gently rolled her on her back again and quickly reached his own pleasure as she whimpered in total surrender. They were asleep in less than a minute.

--xx—

Jack waited in Adam's office, pacing. When the old man finally walked in, he was surprised to see a jittery Jack McCoy. He hung his coat and hat, put his lunch in a drawer, then sat and looked at Jack.

"Adam, the security has to go. It's driving Claire nuts, and we don't need them. Whatever threat existed has passed. The cops are never going to catch the bastards, and I doubt they're stupid enough to try again. Please, call them off."

Adam weighed Jack's words against his body language. "It's really Claire who's going nuts?"

"Yes. The Carmel case is bad enough, but not having a moment to herself, to process all the feelings the case evokes, is too much. We don't have a life. We can't go out to dinner, for a drink, hell, we can't even go to the store and shop like normal people. Those agents do all the shopping, do our laundry, clean the apartment – you get the idea. And Claire is a very private person. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is for her to have Agent Craig do her personal shopping, go to the pharmacy with her, follow her into the bathroom? It has to stop, Adam. Now."

Adam nodded. "OK. I think you're right, the threat has passed. I'll make the call."

"Thank you." Jack relaxed. "And I promise Claire thanks you."

Adam's smile was tinged with sadness. "I just hope I don't have cause to regret this down the road." He picked up the phone as he waved Jack away.

--xx—

They went out to dinner that night, reveling in freedom like teenagers whose parents were out of town. After dinner, they went to Devlin's for a nightcap. Many of their friends were there, they couldn't buy a drink. Claire truly laughed for the first time in months, and Jack felt good, very good, watching her return to normal.

When Ruthie Miller joined them, Jack felt a momentary apprehension. Ruthie was opposing counsel on the Carmel case, but she was also Claire's friend. Claire was so happy to be free of the guardians that she actually hugged Ruthie.

"Whoa," Ruthie said, signaling the bartender for her usual white wine, "what happened, did you finally get laid or something?" She looked around. "And where are your jailers?"

Claire grinned. "Oh, I got laid alright, and the jailers are history. Adam called them off this morning."

"Thank you," Ruthie said to the waitress, taking her wine glass. "Well. If Jack's that good in the sack, maybe I should invite him over one night when Andrew's with Martin." She winked at Claire. "It's great to see you smile again."

"It's great to breathe free air again." Claire sipped her scotch. "I know they were a necessary evil for awhile, but it went on too long, was too intrusive."

"I can only imagine. So, does this mean you guys will lighten up in court?"

Jack smiled. "When hell freezes over."

"Good to know some things never change." Ruthie swirled her wine, then sipped. "Let's do something to celebrate over the weekend. Anything to keep you guys smiling."

With a teasing smile, Jack said, "I'll have to excuse myself, but you and Claire go out and have a good time. Shopping isn't my thing."

--xx—

Claire met Ruthie for lunch on Saturday, at their favorite place in SoHo. They were seated at a table on the tiny patio, observing the sights and smells of a street fair along the block and spilling into a corner park. They picked out the vendors they wanted to hit while they ate; Ruthie paid the tab and then led Claire into fresh air and sunlight.

Claire picked up a bell-sleeved, collarless, white Mexican blouse and examined it while Ruthie sorted through scarves. Neither noticed the skinny man in black jeans and a red shirt amble up behind Claire. She felt cold steel on her neck, started to turn, and then the world exploded. The man cursed, his arm was bumped just as he pulled the trigger, and he ran without ascertaining if the shot was fatal. He tore through the little park and was quickly lost in the crowd.

--xx—

Chaos was the word Ruthie used to describe it when she gave her statement to police. She heard the shot, saw Claire drop like a sandbag, saw blood everywhere. She thought she'd screamed Claire's name before dropping to her knees beside her friend. Her jeans were soaked in the river of blood flowing from Claire, as tears streaked Ruthie's cheeks. She heard sirens, felt paramedics ease her away from her friend, and sat on a bench at the edge of the neighborhood park. She observed, from some detached point in her shocked brain, the EMTs work on Claire, strap her to a stretcher, and load her into the ambulance. Then two suits she didn't recognize flanked her, sunlight glinting off the badges dangling from their necks.

"I didn't get a good look at him," Ruthie said, dully, wanting to go to the hospital. "Male, he wore a red shirt, I think he was young. I saw his back as he ran through the crowd in the park, but my attention was on my friend." She looked at the senior detective as if seeing him for the first time. "She's an ADA, you know, and this isn't the first time she's been shot."

The detective looked at his partner. "Who is she?"

"Claire Kincaid, assistant to Jack McCoy."

"Oh holy fucking paperwork," the younger one said.

"Where did they take her? I need to be there." Ruthie stood, unsteadily, and the young detective grabbed her elbow to steady her. Ruthie looked at him. "I really don't have anything to tell you, but you can find me at the hospital. If you'll tell me what hospital," she muttered.

"Mercy," the young man said, fishing a card out of his jacket pocket. "We'll be in touch, but call if you remember anything when the shock wears off. Harmon!" He called a uniformed cop over. "Take Ms. Miller to Mercy, make sure she gets inside OK."

Ruthie sat in the front seat of Harmon's patrol car, staring straight ahead. She had to call Jack, and she dreaded it. The trip to Mercy took forever, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Ruthie kept replaying that brief scene in her mind: a gunshot, blood exploding from Claire's head, Claire's body collapsing on the ground, a man in a red shirt running, leaping over a bench before vanishing into the lingering crowd. The RMC rolled to a stop at the emergency entrance, and the cop called Harmon got out and walked around to open Ruthie's door. He escorted her inside, got the information from the triage nurse, and then walked Ruthie into the treatment area. Once they found Claire, surrounded by medical personnel, he left Ruthie to face it alone.

She watched from the curtain as these blood-stained people worked on Claire. Then the gurney rails were raised and Claire was wheeled past Ruthie. An older man, with tired eyes, noticed Ruthie and stood beside her.

"Can I help you?" He peeled latex gloves off his hands and tossed them in a trash can.

"That's my friend, she's an assistant district attorney, where are they taking her?"

"To surgery, sixth floor. It's not as bad as it looks." He looked around, there were other patients needing his attention. "There's a waiting room upstairs, someone will let you know how she is." He walked away, back into the mayhem of a big city ER.

Ruthie trudged to the elevators, suddenly aware that she had Claire's purse as well as her own. She got on the elevator with a few other people, and pressed six. She leaned against the wall, drained, and dreading the call she had to make. When she got off on the sixth floor, she went straight to the nurse's station.

"I'm Ruthie Miller, my friend Claire Kincaid was just brought up for surgery," she said to the middle-aged woman in pale blue scrubs.

The woman looked at a white board on the back wall. "Oh, our Jane Doe. I'll let the surgeon know she has someone waiting for her, he'll give you an update when he's finished." She moved to the white board and erased "Jane Doe," then printed "Claire Kincaid" in the rectangle. She looked back at Ruthie. "Maam, the waiting room is down the hall, on the left."

Ruthie nodded and turned. She saw a pay phone outside of the waiting room, and drew a deep breath. Time to unleash the flying monkeys, she thought, and she dropped a coin into the slot and dialed Jack's number, Claire's number, refusing to believe it would cease to be Claire's number. Jack picked up on the second ring.

"Jack, Ruthie. Something terrible has happened. Claire's been shot, she's at Mercy, in surgery." It poured out of her and left her deflated, sagging against the wall.

"Mother of God," Jack said. "I'll be right there." He hung up, and Ruthie hung the receiver, then pushed through the door into the waiting room. A couple sat against the back wall, holding hands. Ruthie sat as far away from them as possible, holding the purses in her lap, wondering how the hell this happened.

The door swung open, and the detectives from the crime scene walked in. They sat, flanking Ruthie. "We hear she's not as badly wounded as it appeared," the younger one said, Ruthie had to get his name, she couldn't keep calling him young dude. "And our captain says she's a mob target, that she was shot before, so where was her security?"

Ruthie looked at him, dulled by shock and worry. "Do you have a name?"

The man smiled patiently. "Scott, Jim Scott. Are you up for answering more questions?"

"I've told you all I know, Jim Scott. If you want background, talk to the detectives at the two-seven, they caught the original attack. All I know is we were out, she was enjoying her freedom from her protective detail, and this man in a red shirt shot her, then ran like hell."

"Did you get a look at his face?"

Ruthie thought. "He had long hair. I have the impression that he was ugly, and that red shirt was hideous. He was fast, like a track star." She shrugged. "I wasn't taking notes, you know. That's my friend in there." She jerked her head in the direction of the operating room.

"We talked to the guys at the two-seven. They're coming down with some photos, do you feel up to going through them, see if you recognize anyone?"

She nodded. "Don't hold out much hope." She looked at the clock, Claire had been in the OR for almost an hour.

The door swung open again, and Lennie Briscoe walked in, followed by Rey Curtis. Ruthie liked Lennie, barely tolerated Rey. Lennie tapped Jim Scott on the shoulder and he got up. Lennie sat beside Ruthie, holding photo array jackets.

"Hey, Ruthie," he said, gently, liking her and wanting to make this as easy as possible. "Any word on Claire?" When she shook her head, he sighed. "I know you told these guys you didn't get a good look at the perp, but will you look at these, see if something rings a bell?"

Ruthie took the first array and studied each face. She passed it back with a quick shake of her head. Lennie passed her the second one. She dutifully looked at each face, then froze. The last one definitely looked familiar. She tapped the black and white face with her index finger. "Maybe," she said. "Who is he? He might look familiar because I defended him."

"You're a defense attorney?" Scott said, incredulous and offended.

Lennie glared at him. "Yeah, she is, and a damned good one. She's also the victim's friend, remember that." He turned to Ruthie again. "His name is Tony Blundetto, he's from Jersey, runs with the Soprano crew."

Ruthie scratched her head. "I haven't defended any Jersey boys. Who are the Sopranos?"

"They run north Jersey, have strong ties to the Lupertazis. We think Carmine used them as muscle, but we can't prove it."

The door flew open and Jack charged in, trailed by a man and a woman, whose eyes took in each person before they melted into the background. Jack almost shoved Lennie out of the chair. "What happened?" The anguish in his voice betrayed the calm mask he wore for the public. Ruthie told him, taking his hand as she spoke.

The surgeon walked in, looking around for the person he should talk to. Jack stood and met him in the middle of the small waiting room. "Jack McCoy," he said, "I'm the executive assistant DA for New York county, and Ms. Kincaid is my assistant. And my girlfriend," he added, softly, holding the surgeon in place with his intense eyes.

"She's in recovery, Mr. McCoy. She was incredibly lucky, the bullet skimmed along her skull, taking a lot of scalp with it, but it didn't penetrate. She's going to have one hell of a headache for awhile, but she'll be fine. She has a tiny fracture where the bullet struck – one inch either way and we'd be calling the morgue. You can see her when she's out of recovery, probably an hour or so." He turned away and Jack watched him leave, relief overwhelming his nervous system. He trembled, and Lennie took his arm, leading him back to the chair.

"These are the detectives who caught it," Lennie said, and he introduced Jim Scott and Charles Jones. "We think it's a small time skell named Tony Blundetto, a Soprano cousin from north Jersey. We'll have the Jersey cops pick him up."

Jack nodded. The odds of nailing this guy were low. When would this end, he wondered, realizing he and Claire had been watched the whole time, that the shooter waited for an opportunity, for Protective Services to leave, thinking the threat was over. What did Lupertazi gain by killing Claire? She was no longer a player in his legal drama. He stared at the floor, thinking, wanting vengeance and knowing he couldn't have it.

An hour later, a nurse poked her head into the room. "Mr. McCoy?" She scanned the males. Jack stood. "You can see her now."

He followed the nurse into a room very similar to the one he'd spent a couple of weeks in with Claire. The nurse left him alone, and he approached the bed. Claire's eyes were black, and her head swathed in white. She was so still that for a moment he thought she was dead, then her eyes opened.

"Déjà vu all over again," she said, her voice raspy.

Jack grabbed a chair and pulled it to the bed. He sat and took her hand, weaving his fingers through hers. "You beat the bastard again," he said.

"Sheer luck." She reached up with her free hand and touched the bandages. "I think they shaved my head."

He smiled. "Haven't I told you I think bald women are sexy?"

She rolled her eyes. "I have one hell of a headache. Comparatively speaking, getting shot in the back is superior to taking one in the head."

"The doc said you wouldn't have any lingering effects."

"Guess not, if he's to be believed. Jesus, Jack, I'm getting tired of this."

"Yeah, me, too, and I'm not the one playing target on the firing range."

She tightened her grip on his hand. "Get me out of here, old pal, tell them you'll take care of me at home. I hate hospitals."

"I don't think they'll let you out until they think you're ready."

"I guess this means we'll have the pleasure of Ms. Craig and her underlings again." She sighed. "What did I ever to this man to make him so determined to kill me?"

Jack shrugged. "Graduated from Harvard Law? Went to work for Adam Schiff? Insulted his mother? Who knows." He stroked their joined hands. "But I promise he's not getting near you again. Adam's expediting a concealed carry permit for me." That was one phone call Jack made before he went to the hospital, demanding Adam get it done, and quickly.

The door opened with a soft rapping. Jack spun on the chair, relaxing when he saw Adam Schiff, bearing flowers. He put the flowers on the nightstand beside the bed, then said, "How are you, Claire? I'm terribly sorry."

"Not your fault, Adam," she said. "Thank you for the flowers, they're beautiful."

"Did you get my permit, Adam?"

He looked at Jack with exaggerated patience. "Yes, son, calm down. You can pick up the permit and a weapon from Lt. Van Buren, who will supervise your time on the range." He looked at Claire again. "I always said he was a cowboy in a previous life." His expression sobered. "I am so sorry we let them get to you, Claire. You're going to be all right?"

She nodded. "Just get this damned target off my back, Adam, I'm a little tired of being someone's idea of target practice."

--xx—

Tony Blundetto sat with his cousin and Jackie Aprile, going over the plan one more time. There was a truck leaving the port of Newark that night, carrying furs, and Tony would hijack it, sell it to Mickey the fence, and, after paying off his crew, take off until the heat died down. Tony Soprano would be part of the crew, as he had more experience than his cousin in these things.

--xx—

Blundetto paced, aware his young crew watched. Tony S was late, and they were going to have to move without him. With a final look at his watch, Blundetto said "OK, let's move. This is a piece of cake, boys."

They drove to the designated spot along the access road leading away from the port, and placed a car across the road. Headlights appeared not long after they were in position, and two of the boys began jumping up and down in the road, as if signaling for help. The big truck slowed to a stop and the driver opened his door. Tony and the other two jumped out of the brush lining the road, weapons drawn and aimed at the driver.

And then the back doors of the transport truck opened and federal agents swarmed out, automatic weapons aimed at Blundetto and his crew. Furious, Tony dropped his gun to the ground and put his hands in the air.

"Get his weapon," one of the feds commanded. An agent swiftly grabbed Tony's pistol and dropped it into a ready evidence bag. Realization dawned, and Tony was grateful he'd taken Aprile's advice and dumped the gun he used on Claire Kincaid. He was handcuffed, along with his crew, thinking of the possible rats. Aprile and Soprano stood to gain the most by his arrest, it would take the heat off where the shooting of the ADA was concerned, but he couldn't bring himself to believe his cousin would betray him. He was shoved in the back of one of the New Jersey State Troopers cars that pulled up, refusing to answer questions.

He was taken to an interrogation room in the Newark station. Two badly dressed detectives came in a few minutes later. "Mr. Blundetto," said one, sitting at the table across from Tony, "have you been in New York at any point in the last couple of days?"

Tony stared at him.

"It's a simple question, Tony," the other cop said, from his vantage point against the wall.

Tony glanced at him, dismissing him with a sneer.

"We think you have, Tony, and we think you're in big trouble. You match the description of a man who shot an assistant district attorney."

Tony shrugged. "Wasn't me. I never go into the city, too dangerous."

"We're running ballistics on your gun right now. This is your chance to give us your side of the story, because once the ballistics match with the bullet that hit the DA, you're toast."

Tony shrugged. "Guess we'll wait for those infallible ballistics."

The other cop moved forward. "You're looking at fifteen years for trying to hijack that truck, Blundetto. Help yourself, we know you didn't work alone in trying to kill the ADAs."

Tony looked at him and rolled his eyes. "You've lost me, dude, I don't know what you're talking about. Sure, I tried to lift those furs, but I didn't try to kill anyone."

The detectives exchanged glances, then the standing one left the interrogation room. "He's going for the ballistic report, Tony, c'mon, now's the time to help yourself."

"I didn't shoot anyone, so there's nothing to help." He leaned back and smiled. "You've got me on the attempted hijack, that's all. I can do the time."

Sighing, the cop got up and left the room. He met his partner in the observation area. "The ballistics don't match, Dave," the man said, offering the paper to his partner. "He must have dumped the piece and picked up a new one for this job."

Dave Sipple looked at the report. "We knew he wasn't stupid," he said, "but without a match, we can't give him to New York."

"So we arraign him on the hijacking charge and let it go. We've done our jobs, and if he is the shooter, then he's off the streets and the New York DA can breath easier."

"Works for me, I'm not busting my balls on a New York case. Let's book him and let New York worry about the rest."


	8. Chapter 8

**Crimson and Clover**

_-Chapter Eight-_

Claire was released from the hospital a week after being wounded. Once again, she had the unwanted company of Protective Services. Adam told her to take ample time off. Jack could function perfectly well without her assistance, so she complied with his wishes. She had to admit that she was more than uneasy about the determination of her would-be killer. She was sitting on the couch, under a blanket, trying to get interested in an absurd talk show, when the door opened and Piper Craig walked in.

Claire looked up, startled. "Don't you knock?" she asked, pulling the blanket tighter.

"Sorry," Piper said. "I wanted to let you know Jersey has indicted Tony Blundetto on hijacking charges, he'll do fifteen years at the least. They tried, but they couldn't connect him to your shooting." She shrugged. "We're convinced he was your shooter, Claire, so at least you know he's locked up, he can't come after you again."

She shivered. "There were two of them the first time, who's to say the other one won't finish it?"

"Nothing. However, Lupertazi's trial is on, so offing you or Jack is pointless."

"So you'll be moving on?"

Piper sat on the chair near Jack's desk. "Probably. They're assessing the risks now." She studied the young woman, with her shorn hair and an ugly scar marring her scalp. "You've been through hell, let's hope it's over."

"And you think it is."

"I do. Believe me, if I didn't, I'd be at the meeting, arguing for continued protection. We screwed up once, thinking it was over, but we have someone in custody now."

"But not for shooting me."

"No, but prison is prison."

"How did they get him?"

She smiled. "Someone tipped the Jersey troopers that a hijacking was going down from Port Newark. Might have been his partner for all we know. All that matters is he was caught in the act and he'll do hard time." She put the file she'd brought on Jack's desk. "Do you need anything? I'm going to help myself to a Diet Coke."

"Yeah, sure, thanks." Claire didn't want to know what was in the file, she could guess and that was enough. Her head began hurting, and she fumbled her way out of her blanket and reached behind her for the pill bottle on the table. She washed two painkillers down with the drink Piper put in her hand. "I think I should go into real estate or something," she mumbled, feeling one of the pills stick in the throat. She chugged Diet Coke until she felt it free itself.

"You could do that," Piper said, "but I think you'd find it boring, house closings aren't that challenging." She resumed her seat on the chair. "And I don't think Jack wants to lose you as an assistant."

Claire smiled. "He'd rather have me as a live lover than a dead assistant." She rubbed her head. "Though I'm not about to show up at Hogan Place looking like I've been scalped."

"You were incredibly lucky."

"Even the luck of the Irish runs out." She shivered again and pulled her blanket up to her shoulders.

Piper's trained eyes assessed the wounded young woman. She's getting sick, she thought, wondering if an infection had set in, again. She decided to call in a doctor, just in case. The last thing she wanted was to be on Jack McCoy's shit list for ignoring signs of illness. She got her cell phone and stepped out into the hall.

The NYPD staff physician was a busy woman, but she agreed to drop by Jack McCoy's apartment that afternoon and have a look at Claire Kincaid. She promised to try to be there by two. Piper closed her phone and returned to the apartment. Claire looked up. "Secret conversations and plans?"

Piper shook her head. "No, just asking Dr. Pound to drop by for a quick look-see where you're concerned. You don't look all that well."

Claire bit back a sharp reply. Rebellion was a useless tactic with these people, and she didn't feel all that good. "Then I better shower," she mumbled, and pushed the blanket aside. "I don't need help," she snapped, as Piper moved to assist her.

"Yeah, and if you fall and crack your already fractured skull, guess who's ass is grass? Don't worry, I won't peek, I'll just stand outside of the door, which will remain partially open."

Shit, Claire thought, don't these people ever back off? She got up slowly and walked unsteadily toward the bathroom. She was dizzy, and she reached for the back of a chair. Piper quickly caught her arm and held her up.

"You still want that shower?" Piper asked.

Claire nodded. "You can help me," she said, wishing the room wasn't spinning. Piper slowly escorted her into the small bathroom, then made her sit on the toilet. She gently undressed Claire after turning the water on. While Claire shivered, Piper tested the water and then helped her in. It was an awkward process, but she managed to give Claire a quick wash and rinse, then shut the water off and wrapped Claire in a towel. She walked her into the bedroom, sat her on the bed, and found one of Jack's tee shirts. Once she had Claire in it, she found her panties and a pair of sweatpants. When Claire was dressed, Piper pulled the covers back and eased Claire down on the bed, pulling the covers up to her shoulders.

Piper was making tea when there was a sharp rapping on the door. She peered through the peephole, then opened it to admit Dr. Pound. "I put her in bed," Piper said, "She insisted on showering before you got here."

"Lead the way." Dr. Pound followed Piper into the bedroom and looked at her patient, who was pale and whose eyes were watering. She sat on the edge of the bed, turned Claire's fuzzy head to examine the wound track, then opened her medical bag. She put the thermometer in Claire's mouth, then took her pulse. After reading the thermometer, she put on her stethoscope and slipped the head under Claire's tee shirt. Finished with the cursory exam, she put her instruments away and looked at Claire.

"You're exhausted, running a very slight fever. Sleep is the best thing for you, but if your fever spikes above a hundred and two, get to an ER." She patted Claire's shoulder. "I don't think it will. Lots of fluids and as much rest as possible." She got up and walked with Piper to the door. "She'll be fine, she's just completely worn out."

"OK, thanks for coming."

"It's my job." Dr. Pound left, and Piper went back to the bedroom. Claire's eyes were closed and her breathing slow and deep. Good, Piper thought, sleep. She returned to the living room to wait for Jack.

--xx—

Anthony Blundetto was sentenced to fifteen years, and Carmine Lupertazi was acquitted. Donnelly fumed about witness tampering, but was impotent to do anything about it. Jack convicted the infant Carmel's half brother, and then sat down with Adam.

"I want to get Claire out of here for awhile," he said. "We have vacation time coming."

"Where are you thinking about going?"

His smile was lopsided. "Ireland."

Adam snorted. "You're offering her sloppy seconds to Diana Hawthorne?"

"She knows it will be different, she knows I really love her. And she needs to get the hell out of Dodge for awhile."

"So you want to go roll in the clover in Ireland? Works for me. How long will you be gone?"

Jack shrugged. "Three weeks?"

Adam nodded. "I think we can keep up with the work load for three weeks. You're right, son, she does need to get away. How's she doing?"

"She's not as jumpy, she's getting back to normal. Best thing for her is to be away from here, even though she knows one of her shooters is locked up. I think it's all over, so yes," he smiled, "a roll in the clover is just what she needs."

"See you in three weeks, then, and give her my best."

Jack stood. "Will do. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Just see to it she has a good time."

"There's a lot of clover in Ireland," he said, with a wicked smile, then he picked up his helmet and headed home.

END


End file.
